


Orbit (fall back)

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types, Walking Dead
Genre: Adult Content, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fem-Slash, Smut, au from season 3-4 at Prison, mild sexual identity issues and emotional constipation, set after the season five finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She smiled, the expression was half-hearted but no less as potent as she played with the ends of sable-black hair. Soothing the woman back down into sleep as Michonne dug her face a bit further into the crease between their pillows and exhaled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orbit (fall back)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: Set sometime after the season five finale, but touching on an au arc that goes back to what would have started during season 3-4 at the Prison. Written for onedayyoujustchange on tumblr who just wanted some Carick or Carshonne. – I went for Carshonne as I have never tried my hand at it before.
> 
> Warnings: *Contains: fem-slash, adult language, angst, smut, deals with aspects of grieving/loss/emotional issues/perhaps mild sexual identity issues but nothing at all serious or blatant.

Her sex  _throbbed_. Worn out and sore in the best of ways as she breathed into the humid, half-light. Michonne was curled up beside her, the dark cream of her breasts rising and falling across the curve of her spine. The sensation familiar yet achingly new in its own right as the subtle sounds of the community waking gradually made waves through the thickening summer smog.

She smiled, the expression was half-hearted but no less as potent as she played with the ends of sable-black hair. Soothing the woman back down into sleep as Michonne dug her face a bit further into the crease between their pillows and exhaled. Their moments together were few. But they were used to it. Used to making the best of it. Used to pushing through and doing what was expected of them, rather than what they both might have wanted.

They didn't talk about the future.

About what they were.

_What they meant._

But what had started at the prison with half-veiled looks and months – or in her case,  _years_  - of pent up sexual tension wasn't what they were now. She knew it. Michonne knew it. But still, they didn't talk about it. And deep down, she knew they never would. It was a pact they'd unwittingly made that first time, exchanging long, exploratory kisses in the communal showers. Excited but nervous as soft hands had reeled her in close, hip to hip, all bumping curves and tightening nipples as the spray had pebbled slick down their skin.

They'd still have this, though.

The soft glow of what came after.

After the teasing words and ripping moans. After the arching backs and Michonne's clever fingers working into her until her thighs trembled. After memorizing the way Michonne threw back her head, baring her throat – vulnerable and perfect – as she licked a stripe up the woman's slit. After the sounds they'd muffle into their pillows as they peaked together, drunk on it. Faces slick and flakey with half-dried juices. Reminding her of everything she'd never thought she'd wanted in life as Michonne urged her up – insatiable and greedy.

They still got the quiet moments.

The good moments.

The moments where they could just be.

It didn't seem right to ask for any more than that.

Not these days.


End file.
